Mom seduces me home for summer

"You're my mother."

I whispered it against the skin of her neck, my voice raw. My hands were on her hips, holding her still against the kitchen counter. She gasped, a sharp intake of breath that wasn't fear.

"I know," she breathed back, her head tilting to give me better access. "I've always known."

That was all the permission I needed. My mouth found hers again, hungry, devouring. Her lips were soft and tasted of the wine we'd shared. Her fingers twisted in my hair, not pushing me away, but pulling me closer. The silky fabric of her blouse was a maddening barrier. I needed skin.

This hadn'tt started here, in the heat of the kitchen. It started weeks ago, maybe months. I'm twenty-two, home from university for the summer. She's forty-two, vibrant and lonely since the divorce. The glances had grown longer. The casual touches—a hand on the shoulder, a brush of fingers passing a plate—lingered a second too long. The air in our house had thickened with something unspoken.

Tonight, we'd finished a bottle of Cabernet. The conversation drifted from my studies to her new job, then to memories of dad, the empty spaces he left. She was crying, just a little. I moved to comfort her. I hugged her. She clung to me. And then… she wasn't my mom anymore. She was a woman. The scent of her perfume, the feel of her curves through her clothes, the warmth of her body pressed to mine… it short-circuited every rational thought.

This is wrong, a distant part of my brain screamed. The rest of me was chanting more, more, more.

I broke the kiss, my breathing ragged. Her eyes were dark, pupils wide. There was no hesitation there, only a mirror of my own desperate hunger. "Upstairs," I managed to say, the word a command, a plea.

She nodded, a quick, decisive motion. Taking my hand, she led me. Not me leading her. Her leading me. Her bedroom door clicked shut, and the world outside ceased to exist.

I didn't wait. My hands went to the buttons of her blouse. My fingers fumbled, clumsy with need. She smiled, a slow, knowing curve of her lips, and did it herself, popping each button free with deliberate slowness. The fabric parted, revealing a lace bra the color of cream. Her breasts were full, beautiful. I cupped one through the lace, my thumb brushing over her nipple. It hardened instantly. She arched into my touch, a soft moan escaping her.

"Let me see you," I rasped.

She reached back, unhooked the bra, and let it fall. I just stared, drinking her in. I’d seen her in bathing suits, but this… this was different. This was for me. I lowered my head and took a nipple into my mouth. She cried out, her hands flying back to my hair. I laved it with my tongue, then sucked, hard. The taste of her skin, the feel of her pebbled flesh against my tongue, sent a jolt of pure lust straight to my cock, which was straining painfully against my jeans.

Her hands were at my waistband, tugging at my shirt, pulling it over my head. Then her fingers worked my belt buckle, the button of my jeans. She pushed them down, and my boxers with them. I sprang free, thick and aching. Her eyes dropped, and she licked her lips.

"God, you're…" she whispered, wrapping her hand around me. Her touch was electric, a perfect, firm pressure. I groaned, my hips jerking forward.

"Not yet," I said, though it took every ounce of willpower. I wanted to be inside her more than I wanted to breathe, but I wanted to taste her first. I needed to know her.

I guided her back onto the bed. She lay back, watching me, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I knelt between her legs, my hands sliding up her thighs, pushing her skirt up to her waist. She wore simple cotton panties, already damp. I hooked my fingers in the waistband and pulled them down her legs, tossing them aside.

And there she was. Completely bare for me. Her scent, musky and sweet, filled the air. I leaned in, nuzzling the soft curls, then licked a slow, firm stripe through her folds.

She jolted, a gasp tearing from her throat. "Oh, god… right there."

I did it again, finding a rhythm, exploring her with my tongue. I found her clit, a hard little nub, and focused on it, circling, flicking, sucking gently. Her thighs trembled beside my head. Her hips began to move, rocking against my face, seeking more pressure, more friction. Her moans grew louder, less controlled. I slid a finger inside her, then another. She was so wet, so tight and hot. I curled my fingers, searching.

Her back arched off the bed when I found the spot. A broken, keening sound. "Yes! There, baby, right there!"

I fucked her with my fingers, my mouth still working her clit. Her hands fisted in the sheets. Her legs tightened around my head. I could feel her body coiling, tightening like a spring. I redoubled my efforts, my tongue moving faster, my fingers pumping.

She came with a sharp, guttural cry, her whole body convulsing. I kept my mouth on her, drinking in her release, feeling her inner muscles clench rhythmically around my fingers until the waves subsided into gentle shudders.

She lay boneless, panting. I crawled up her body, my cock nudging against her thigh. She opened her eyes, hazy with pleasure. She reached between us, guiding me to her entrance. The head of my cock pressed against her slick heat.

"Now," she demanded, her voice husky. "I need to feel you. All of you."

I pushed forward. The sensation was overwhelming. Incredible, tight, wet heat enveloped me, inch by glorious inch. She was so snug, so perfect. I buried myself to the hilt, our hips meeting. We both groaned in unison.

I paused, my forehead against hers, just feeling the connection, the utter rightness of being joined with her. Then I began to move. Slow, deep strokes at first, savoring the glide. Her legs wrapped around my waist, her heels digging into my back, pulling me deeper with every thrust.

"Harder," she urged, her nails scraping down my back. "Don't be gentle."

I obeyed. My pace quickened, my thrusts becoming harder, more forceful. The bed rocked against the wall with a steady, rhythmic thump. The sounds of our bodies meeting, her wetness, our ragged breaths, filled the room. Every drive into her felt like coming home and breaking taboo in the same glorious moment.

Her breasts bounced with each impact. I took one in my mouth again, sucking hard as I pounded into her. She was meeting me thrust for thrust, her hips rolling, taking everything I gave and demanding more.

"I'm close," I grunted, the pressure building at the base of my spine, white-hot and urgent.

"Me too," she gasped. "Don't stop. Make me come again."

I shifted slightly, angling my hips to hit that deep, perfect spot with every plunge. Her eyes flew open, her mouth forming a silent 'O'. Then she shattered. Her internal muscles clamped down on me like a vice, milking my cock. The intensity of her second climax tipped me over the edge.

With a roar that was part triumph, part surrender, I drove into her one last, deep time and let go. My release pulsed into her, hot and endless, wave after wave of pure, blinding pleasure. I collapsed on top of her, spent, still buried inside her. Our hearts hammered against each other's chests.

After a long moment, she shifted beneath me. Her hand came up to cup my cheek. I turned my head to look at her.

Her smile was tender, satiated, and utterly wicked. "So," she whispered, her thumb tracing my lower lip.